


freefall with me

by gealbhan



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pacific Rim Fusion, Berniegard Week, Drift Compatibility, F/F, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Non-Graphic Violence, Pre-Relationship, Trust, bg ferdibert if you squint, liberties taken with pacrim lore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-20
Updated: 2020-06-20
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:53:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24547948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gealbhan/pseuds/gealbhan
Summary: “I have no intention whatsoever to harm you. It’s just—” Edelgard hesitates, then determines that honesty is best. “A sparring match is the quickest way to measure Drift compatibility.”That mollifies Bernadetta for a moment before it sinks in, and then her eyes pop open again. “Drift compatibility? You—you mean you and—” Looking very pale, she gestures between herself and Edelgard, though she soon turns bright red when Edelgard nods. “You think we could be Drift compatible? B-But I’m an engineer! Not a pilot! And we barely know each other!”
Relationships: Edelgard von Hresvelg/Bernadetta von Varley
Comments: 6
Kudos: 63
Collections: Berniegard Week 2020





	freefall with me

**Author's Note:**

> written for day 4 of berniegard week: growth/sci-fi au. i originally meant to have this out for femslash february, but that, uh, did not exactly play out.
> 
> warnings: implications and brief visuals of canon-typical violence and child abuse. the former is most explicit in the opening scene, which contains a brief nightmare sequence; the latter is never explicitly discussed but alluded to throughout.
> 
> also, this fic assumes at least basic knowledge of pacific rim. it's a good movie! (though i still haven't seen uprising...) title from "skydiving" by lights. enjoy!

Edelgard is in the Conn-Pod of her Jaeger, and she is alone.

She knows this because she is screaming, because there is an emptiness in her, because the pain in her skull is so strong that she cannot describe it. A single person cannot pilot a Jaeger. It causes brain damage and stress that leads to immense physical trauma and the shutdown of all of the body’s major organs—and that is in trials alone, not put to the test, when a Drift has already begun and a partner has been killed while still engaged.

But here Edelgard is. She is alive, but she knows not for how long. She is bleeding, she knows, claws having snagged her when they’d torn her partner from her side, and she cannot tell how deep the wound is—she cannot tell much of anything, now, except that the monster before her must die. There is a haze around her mind, but she forces herself through it. Giving up has never been an option.

She screams, and she rages, and she uses her half of the Jaeger to rend the Kaiju limb from fucking limb, uncaring of the pain through her body. Pain is nothing new. She is a fighter, and thus she _fights_ with what of herself she has left.

She doesn’t know how long it takes before she’s stumbling from her Jaeger, wiring still clinging to her shaken form. There is snow at her feet. The snow of her hometown, she thinks somewhere. But that is not right. It had never snowed in Enbarr; it had snowed in Fhirdiad.

Fhirdiad, where her _brother_ had been born. She has been having trouble remembering who her Drift partner had been—but of course it is him. _Was_ him.

She staggers forward. She had felt him die. She cannot describe the feeling; it had been just out of reach, perhaps blocked from her mind due to distance—emotional or physical—or simple inability to process it. But something like it burns within her chest, making her gasp as she walks, spitting up blood.

She stops. A carnation falls at Edelgard’s foot, wilted petals blooming open, revealing beads of blood upon them, and—

And Edelgard wakes up gasping for breath, a choked scream trapped in her throat. Her room is dark enough that her blinks almost do nothing, and, still panting, she drags herself to a sitting position and fumbles for a light. The sudden brightness hurts her eyes, but it allows her to see enough to register her surroundings once she adjusts.

A stuffed cat stares at her from the floor, where she had likely kicked it. Edelgard picks it up on instinct, though her glassy gaze cannot quite meet its beady button eyes as she sets it back on her bed.

With halting breaths, she lists off everything she knows in her mind. She is in her room in the Enbarr Shatterdome. Her name is Edelgard von Hresvelg. She is twenty-seven years old. She is one of the Jaeger pilots seeking to rid the world of Kaijus. Her Jaeger is called Aymr, and it has been her companion for eight years now. Her hair is white but was once brown, and she can feel it brush her shoulders where it sprawls, undone from its usual updo. Her stuffed cat, sitting at her side on the bed once more, is nicknamed Hubie, a name earned in childhood when she’d put its face and that of her closest friend side-by-side.

As Edelgard sits back, her pulse burns against her throat. She lays her hands over her neck and feels it beat, feels herself swallow, feels how her chest rises and falls.

She is alive. She is safe. She has not lost a Drift partner, at least not in the sense that her dream had revolved around, and her brother is, as far as she knows, alive and well at the Fhirdiad Shatterdome. They’ve never even Drifted. She’s never piloted a Jaeger by herself, and hopefully she never will.

These are temporary conditions, hollow reassurances, but they serve to calm Edelgard’s breathing nonetheless.

The way she’d woken up was harsh, but nowhere near out of the ordinary. Nightmares are commonplace for her. It would be stranger, Edelgard thinks, if they weren’t—with all that she’s been through, both in her childhood and as a Jaeger pilot, she would be more surprised by a night of restful sleep for once. She wishes they would stop, of course, but at the same time, she finds a symbiotic sort of comfort in them. Almost a reminder that the world is normal, so long as she wakes up screaming; although nothing is normal at the moment, really.

With a decisive huff, Edelgard tears herself from her bed and makes to do something remotely more productive.

*

She finds herself, as she always does, standing before Aymr. She’s still shaking in the fingers, and she decides to chalk it up to the fact that she hadn’t thought to grab a jacket in addition to the pants and shirt she’d hastily dressed in rather than the remnants of her nightmare. She’ll call Dimitri at a more reasonable time, speak with Hubert this afternoon, run training drills in the evening. Anything to remind herself that her dream had not been reality.

But for now, Edelgard can only find comfort in the silence of her Jaeger.

She can’t board it, but its mere presence is enough. Aymr towers above her, making her feel smaller than she already is. The stillness of the night, even with the ever-burning lights of the Shatterdome, adds to the eerie tone of the room. Yet Edelgard is fully at ease.

Aymr’s design is gaunt, robotic, monstrous to the point of looking almost more demonic than the beasts she once faced daily. An eagle’s beak juts down from a humanoid head, larger than life in more than one way. The entire Jaeger is painted gold; it and the other Jaegers stationed here in the Shatterdome undergo regular upkeep, so while it’s been active for the past eight years—and planned for nine, ever since the Kaijus first attacked—it lacks any sign of rust. Style had taken lead over function at some points, it’s clear. Aymr, more so than any other Jaeger, represents the meaning of their collective name: _Hunter_.

Despite this, Edelgard feels no sense of danger. Her heartbeat is the calmest it has been since she’d woken. All she feels is an apologetic sort of warmth.

The same cannot be said for everyone in the Enbarr Shatterdome. Plenty of the other pilots are even unnerved by Aymr, to say nothing of the engineers and technicians who work on and around it every day as well as the ordinary people here. Hubert (who has a more intimidating presence than a giant machine equipped to fight monsters) and Commander Byleth (who has been noted to feel next to nothing) are the only other people Edelgard has known to never be at least a little uncomfortable around it.

Looking up, Edelgard feels something else too: Frustration. What unnerves her more than Aymr’s appearance is the process that’ll lead to her piloting it again. Perhaps her nightmare had been more about that than anything else—her brain hadn’t so much as made up a partner for her to lose in such a visceral manner, not even substituting Hubert in but Dimitri, of all people.

But if she’s ever to set foot in a Jaeger again, which she itches to do despite her apprehension, she’ll need a new partner. Byleth hasn’t forced her through training drills yet, since it’s only been a few months since Hubert became the second pilot of Assal, but it’s only a matter of time, and there’s something so inelegant about it. Impersonal.

Normally, Edelgard would prioritize any less emotional process, but the Drift is… different. She doesn’t wish to go off of statistics or rigorous sparring to find a co-pilot. She hadn’t done so in the past; she’d known since they’d met that she and Hubert, despite their numerous differences, would work together without a hitch. Selecting someone from a crowd rather than through a genuine connection puts a poor taste in her mouth.

But that’s also unnerving, isn’t it? If she’s to grow close to someone, to link her mind to theirs, then losing them will be unlike anything she’s ever been through. Edelgard has heard Byleth’s stories of their father, of losing him while still connected through the Drift (she’d heard them yesterday, in fact, a likely influence on her subconscious). She shudders at the very thought.

Humming on the catwalk beside her distracts Edelgard from her thoughts. She lifts her head, embarrassed by letting her mind wander, but that falters when she sees who it is.

Bernadetta von Varley, a soft-spoken engineer, stands in the distance, phone in hand and earbuds trailing from it to her ears, presumably playing whatever music she’s humming along to. Purple hair frames a smiling face.

Come to think of it, Edelgard doesn’t think she’s seen Bernadetta smile. They’ve spoken a handful of times, always in passing and with starry eyes on Bernadetta’s end and bemusement on Edelgard’s, but Bernadetta’s shyness is notorious. She eats in her room instead of the cafeteria. She’s reserved and hesitant even among her fellow engineers, whom Edelgard has overheard discussing her in less than flattering terms.

But Edelgard has made a habit of observing the others at the Shatterdome, and she has noticed more from Bernadetta. She’d kept Aymr from being retired when Assal was crafted, and according to Byleth, she’s contributed—silently—to a number of other projects over the years, having been hired a year or two after Edelgard joined as a pilot. She’s a steady hand, at the least, and her passion is clear despite her tendency to keep to herself.

Something about her is intriguing. So rather than taking the opportunity to leave now, Edelgard clears her throat.

It still takes Bernadetta a moment to notice her in return, and when she does, she jumps upright. Her earbuds fall out with the motion. “Oh! Um! Sir! Sorry, was I bothering you? I—I didn’t know anyone else would be out here, uh…”

“I had trouble sleeping.” Edelgard, flustered by the admission, shifts her arms. “I assume it’s much the same for you, Bernadetta.”

Bernadetta blinks. “Yes, but, um—you know my name, sir?”

“Of course—I made it a point to remember after you saved Aymr from becoming scrap metal. Even Hubert lauded you for your work.” Edelgard can’t tamp down on a smile. “And please, simply _Edelgard_ will do.”

“O-Okay, um, Edelgard—oh no,” says Bernadetta, covering her mouth with her hands. “That feels really weird.”

Edelgard raises her eyebrows. “If it’s uncomfortable, you needn’t force yourself. But I see no need for such formalities, especially with someone my age.”

“Your—? Oh, right, you’re only, like, twenty-seven, right? Jeez, that’s even weirder. You seem a lot older,” mumbles Bernadetta, seeming to be talking more to herself than Edelgard at this point. Then her head snaps up. “Oh! I mean, not that you seem _old_ or anything! It’s just that you’re such an impressive pilot and everything, you seem more—experienced? That’s the word I was looking for. You’re a _writer_ , Bernie,” she adds under her breath, glaring at the floor, “you should be better at this—”

Edelgard finds herself distracted enough to ask, instead of what she’d intended to say, “You’re a writer?”

“Oh—well, not officially, as you can tell—” Bernadetta tugs at her uniform “—but, you know, in my free time, yeah. Please don’t ask to read my stuff.”

“I wouldn’t unless you offered,” assures Edelgard. She shakes herself. “On another note—”

“Ah, you were actually talking, weren’t you? I’m sorry, I’ll stop now.”

“It’s quite all right.” Edelgard raises an appeasing hand, though it doesn’t seem to put Bernadetta much more at ease. “Calm yourself, Bernadetta. What I wanted to ask was—” she hesitates for but a second, second-guessing rare but not impossible “—if you would be willing to spar with me.”

The air stiffens. Edelgard isn’t sure herself where the offer had come from, though she can guess at her reasoning—and it isn’t as though she’ll rescind it now. She and Bernadetta stare at each other, neither moving.

For a long stretch of time, that’s all Bernadetta does: Stare at Edelgard with a deer-in-headlights expression, still enough that Edelgard begins to worry she’s fainted. Then she yelps, making Edelgard jump, and squeaks out, “ _Spar_?! With you, s—Edelgard? Wh-Why? Are you—” Her eyes narrow, and she clasps her phone against her chest. “Are you trying to get rid of me?”

“No, that’s not at all what—”

Bernadetta doesn’t seem to hear her. “Oh, I knew someone like you talking to someone like me was way too good to be true—”

“Bernadetta,” interrupts Edelgard, sharp but with a gentle gaze that she hopes coveys her true intentions. Bernadetta stops, jaw clamping shut, and Edelgard softens her voice. “I have no intention whatsoever to harm you. It’s just—” She hesitates, then determines that honesty is best. “A sparring match is the quickest way to measure Drift compatibility.”

That mollifies Bernadetta for a moment before it sinks in, and then her eyes pop open again. “Drift compatibility? You—you mean you and—” Looking very pale, she gestures between herself and Edelgard, though she soon turns bright red when Edelgard nods. “You think we could be Drift compatible? B-But I’m an engineer! Not a pilot! And we barely know each other!”

“Drift compatibility isn’t necessarily measured by how familiar people already are with one another,” says Edelgard, trying to maintain a calm voice to counteract Bernadetta’s spiral.

Bernadetta either doesn’t hear or ignores her. “Um, and Bernie’s no good with heights, really—you wouldn’t want me in a Jaeger. Least of all with somebody like you.”

“I’m hardly perfect myself.” Edelgard grimaces and shakes her head. “If you don’t want to, that’s quite all right—I’ll hardly force you. I just—” How should she put it into words? In her mind, she can rationalize it well enough, but she supposes she should word things more diplomatically for someone like Bernadetta. She takes a breath. “I simply think the two of us could work well together. Even without a guarantee of Drift compatibility, I respect your work and demeanor. I can’t speak to your feelings toward me, but if there is the slightest chance that we could work together as co-pilots…”

She falls silent, watching Bernadetta for any reactions. Bernadetta’s instantaneous panic seems to have lessened, limbs flailing less and expression tighter, less that of a mouse trying to leap over a trap. “Um,” she starts, “if I could just ask _one_ more question—”

“Ask as many as you’d like.”

“Oh.” Bernadetta blinks and tilts her head. “Really?”

“Yes.” Edelgard folds her hands behind her back, straightening her shoulders. She’s shorter than Bernadetta, she realizes, but she doubts that technical advantage matters much to Bernadetta at the moment. “The Drift test itself is, well, a big deal. Considerably more so than I realize I’m making it sound, to be honest.”

“O-Okay. Uh, why—no, wait.” Chewing her lip, Bernadetta rocks gently back and forth on her heels as she has what appears to be a very intense internal argument. “Why me?”

This, Edelgard can answer without so much as pausing to think about it. “Well, I appear to be out a co-pilot,” she says, nodding toward Assal where it’s just visible across the Jaeger bay. “And I’d at least like the chance to find another on my own before the commander sends out the assembly line for me to test with.” Bernadetta nods, but Edelgard continues, “Besides, as I mentioned, I quite admire the passion I’ve observed in your work.” She lowers her head. “I’m aware I come across as cold, so it would be intriguing to work with someone with a more—emotional perspective.”

“Oh, jeez, you’ve been paying that close attention to me?!” Bernadetta presses her hands to her cheeks. “That’s—I mean, I’m flattered, but that’s kinda embarrassing. You haven’t seen me do anything too weird, have you?”

Edelgard is sure many qualities of Bernadetta would classify as _weird_ in many others’ books, but they aren’t so much so to her. “I don’t believe so.”

Bernadetta’s hand falls to her chest. “Oh, phew.”

“You have strong reflexes as well,” adds Edelgard; she may as well get all of her observations out. “You react perhaps _too_ much, even. I don’t know of your history with more physical matters—” she eyes the subtle musculature visible through Bernadetta’s sleeves, figure leaner than Edelgard’s but not without its bulk “—but that’s a good quality in a pilot.”

After another beat of wide-eyed staring, Bernadetta shakes her head, more on reflex than anything. “I really don’t know. I—I mean, I’ve thought about being a pilot, obviously—who doesn’t, every once in a while?” she asks, a question Edelgard takes as rhetorical. “But I’m an engineer.”

“In other words, you know Jaegers inside and out, as well as the known weaknesses of Kaijus that they’re built to exploit. Aymr most of all, given your work on it.”

“I—I guess so.” Bernadetta taps her chin. “But—”

“Again, if you don’t want to, no matter the reason, then you don’t have to. It’s a mere suggestion.” Edelgard could add in _I would be disappointed, but I would find someone else_ , but she doesn’t want to guilt Bernadetta into it, however accidentally. Piloting is a big responsibility, and all co-pilots must be willing and open. Even if someone possesses every trait that would make them a good pilot, they won’t be a good pilot unless they _want_ to be one.

Bernadetta stammers fruitlessly for a moment before stopping, expression guarded but not enough so for Edelgard to consider it a lost cause and leave her to her privacy. Still, Edelgard jumps when she speaks again: “You just want to spar, yeah? Not make any sort of, um, big commitments about me actually becoming a pilot?” Her voice ticks up at the end.

“Precisely.”

“All right.” Bernadetta rubs the back of her neck. “And—and how long would sparring take?”

“A single match is all I need.” It’s been a while since Edelgard observed compatibility matches, but she knows the rules well enough. “The first to four points wins, so seven rounds at most.”

“One match, huh.” Bernadetta worries her lower lip between her teeth. She looks more thoughtful than hesitant by now, but Edelgard is still ready to acknowledge defeat when Bernadetta smiles. “Okay. Okay, I’ll do it! Let’s see how compatible we are!”

Edelgard blinks, working to process that. Then she smiles back, full-fledged relief flooding her system. “That isn’t exactly how it works,” she says, “but I appreciate your enthusiasm. All right. Is now all right?”

Bernadetta scoffs. “When else?”

“Fair point.” Edelgard shakes her head, unable to shake her smile. “Come with me, then.”

*

The combat room is as empty as the Jaeger bay had been, much to Bernadetta's seeming relief. When they step in and find only silence, she sighs and lets her shoulders relax. Edelgard wastes no time in shrugging her shirt off, leaving her in only the tank top she’d fallen asleep in, and Bernadetta squawks and covers her eyes.

“Relax,” Edelgard tells her. It’s only as she’s setting her shirt down on a bench that she recalls the map of scars covering her skin, but she dismisses the thought, too focused to be self-conscious. “I’ll be sweating soon enough anyway.”

“Um,” says Bernadetta, clearly split between two extremes. In the end, she ducks out of the room with a call of, “Be right back!”

While she’s gone, Edelgard ties her hair back and occupies her time warming up. It occurs to her after about ten minutes that perhaps Bernadetta changed her mind about the sparring session, but she decides to stay long enough to work up a sweat—she’d work out this morning no matter what. Within another fifteen minutes, shorter than the thirty Edelgard had given herself to wait, Bernadetta shows back up. She looks sheepish, and she’s changed into a T-shirt and a pair of looser pants than those on her uniform.

“Okay, I’m ready.” Bernadetta eyes Edelgard’s mid-stretch position. “I’m going to warm up first.”

“All right.” Edelgard glances at the lean muscles now bared by Bernadetta’s sleeves—perhaps she already knows a fair amount of exercise. Clearing her throat, Edelgard heads over to the bench to leave the floor open. “Let me know when you’re ready.”

It takes only around another fifteen minutes of stretching and brief exercises (push-ups and punching the air seem to be Bernadetta’s go-tos) for Bernadetta to turn toward her with a grin and a call of, “Good to go.”

Edelgard stands, gives her neck one last twist, and grabs two staffs. One she keeps. The other she tosses across the room to Bernadetta, who catches it in one try.

“Impressive,” comments Edelgard, to which Bernadetta only laughs, twisting her staff around in her grasp to get a feel for the weight and length. It can’t be a weapon she’s made much use of before, if any. “Again: Four points on contact. We’ll both keep track.”

Bernadetta nods. “When does it start?”

Edelgard clicks her tongue. “It already has.”

“Wait, what?”

While Bernadetta is caught off-guard, Edelgard takes the—cheap, but appreciated—chance to cross the distance between them with just short of a running start. It takes only a single strike to knock Bernadetta’s arm to her side and press the tip of her staff to her pulse point. Adrenaline sparks in Edelgard’s veins.

“One-zero.”

Bernadetta swallows as the staff slides away from her throat. Edelgard takes a step back: Only one point out of four. No telling how the rest will go.

She shifts her staff to the opposite hand and circles Bernadetta in search of another opening. Bernadetta is almost hunched in on herself now, clutching her staff defensively against her chest, taking no chances to attack. Every time Edelgard takes a step, Bernadetta spins to follow her.

Edelgard wastes no more time. She jabs forth with her staff, trying for the same move she’d pulled the last time.

Bernadetta expects it this time, though, and on what seems to be pure panic-fueled reflex, she pushes her own staff up, knocking into Edelgard’s and pushing her back with an unexpected surge of strength. The staff clatters out of Edelgard’s hand together. She finds herself staring in disbelief as it lands halfway across the room. Bernadetta’s staff, in turn, hovers over her stomach.

“How did you—?”

“One-one,” says Bernadetta, voice shaking. Then, eyes widening at what she’s just done, she rushes over to retrieve Edelgard’s staff. “As long as that didn’t mess anything up, I mean! I’m really sorry, I—”

“That was quite the move.” Smiling despite herself, Edelgard takes her staff back and rests it at her side, regarding Bernadetta with curiosity. “One-one, indeed. Shall we continue?”

Bernadetta’s lip quivers. “You’re okay?”

“As much as can be expected.” Bernadetta nods, and Edelgard says, “Enough talk.”

She raises her staff again and starts in on Bernadetta, who pushes back but doesn’t quite manage to knock Edelgard off-kilter again. They both step back, and Bernadetta watches Edelgard for a long moment. Edelgard steps forward; Bernadetta steps back. Edelgard steps away; Bernadetta takes another step back. Luring Edelgard closer, a game of cat and mouse—but Edelgard doesn’t pause to think about who is who before she lunges again, momentarily prioritizing brute strength over strategy.

Bernadetta is grinning when Edelgard bears down (or up) on her, and when Edelgard falters, she parries Edelgard’s strike. She jabs forward again and again, forcing Edelgard back toward the wall, barraging her with so many attacks that Edelgard has no choice but to kneel. Bernadetta’s staff tips her chin up.

“One-two,” says Bernadetta. “Bernie’s unstoppable today!”

Edelgard swings up and taps Bernadetta in the side, left wide open by her impromptu victory pose. “Two-two,” she says. “Don’t get too cocky.”

“Oh! Right!” Bernadetta jumps right back.

It’s remarkable how fast Bernadetta has gotten into the swing of things, Edelgard must say—she’s light on her feet and, in the heat of battle, quick to act. This is no real battle, but Edelgard can already admire how her abilities would suit her in the Conn-Pod of a Jaeger. She can see how the two of them are working in tandem, building off of each other even on opposing sides. So intent is she that she doesn’t notice Bernadetta approaching until a staff knocks against her shoulder.

A little too hard, at that. _“Shit,”_ mutters Edelgard.

Bernadetta lowers her staff. “Oh, did I hurt you? I’m so sorry, it was an accident, I swear—”

“It’ll get better,” says Edelgard through her teeth. She allows for an impressed nod. “Nice shot. Two-three. Back to it.”

Bernadetta grows slower, more cautious, as she steps back from Edelgard. Edelgard spots plenty of openings—Bernadetta’s readiness to act has subsided now that she’s underestimated her strength and is afraid to hurt Edelgard again. But it would feel cheap to rush her. This isn’t a fight, Edelgard’s competitive streak be damned; it’s a dialogue.

Edelgard waits. She slows her steps to match Bernadetta’s. As they fake each other out, Bernadetta regains her confidence, each movement more and more energetic. Edelgard can’t help smiling even with sweat beading down her neck and a coiling pain in her chest and the tight breaths she almost has to force herself to take.

She gets her opening before long. Bernadetta’s next attempt at a strike is too fast, too broad, and Edelgard quickly deflects and startles her long enough to press her staff to her chest.

“Three-three.”

One more point for either of them and it’ll be over. Edelgard finds herself somehow wanting to prolong the match, but she knows that thought to be a fool’s errand. This match will end with the next point, no matter who scores it. Were it to continue past the confines of its time, it wouldn’t feel right.

Edelgard and Bernadetta circle each other, almost pacing, two hunters come face-to-face over the same quarry. Edelgard already has what she’s looking for. Her steps are leisurely, basking in the experience, while Bernadetta’s are more purposeful.

Others Edelgard has sparred with have used dirty tactics—distracting their opponents, flinging sand in their eyes, kicking and punching instead of using their staffs alone. Some people work well with that type of person, but Edelgard never has (Hubert may avoid the honest path in other areas of life, but one thing he does believe in is a fair fight), and she doubts Bernadetta would either. So she keeps things careful. One foot stays on the ground. She switches her staff between hands again; being ambidextrous has its perks, but she can’t say one hand is luckier than the other.

She’ll have to rely on independent luck. Edelgard takes a deep breath and decides to end things here. She gets a running start, with how far apart she and Bernadetta have grown—

But again, Bernadetta expects her; and again, Bernadetta stops her. Bernadetta presses hard against her attack, and Edelgard tries to break her concentration, but all she can do is stumble back. Wood clashes against wood once more, a joust, and—

Edelgard’s staff is knocked out of her hand again. It lands beside her. Before she can even think about reaching down, Bernadetta has swept in and pressed her staff against her heart.

“Three-four,” says Bernadetta, voice as soft as the drop of a pin.

She pulls her staff back and lets it fall at her side. Static electricity hangs in the air between them. Edelgard finds herself gasping for breath again, this time more comfortable with it—it’s been some time since she’s trained with another person, especially in such a spirited sparring match.

She catches Bernadetta’s eyes and grins. Slowly but surely, Bernadetta grins back.

Applause echoes from outside, and both their heads rise to see Commander Byleth stepping into the room, eyes shining behind their glasses. Bernadetta is frozen. With a glance over her shoulder, Edelgard straightens and steps in front of her as subtly as possible. There’s nothing to fear from the commander, but Edelgard will still do whatever she can in the effort of protecting Bernadetta. She stands at attention as best she can while still trying to catch her breath.

“At ease,” Byleth tells her. “That was quite the match.”

Bernadetta makes a squeaking sound. “You were watching, Commander?”

Byleth shakes their head. “Not the whole thing. Just enough. Both of you fought excellently—that final strike was particularly impressive, Bernadetta. Congratulations.”

Their voice is as calm as ever, but the praise seems to affect Bernadetta anyway—she makes another high-pitched sound, and when Edelgard glances back, she’s blushing.

Edelgard looks back to Byleth just as they start speaking again. “I take it you two would like to attempt a Drift now. Aymr is still ready to go—tell me, and I’ll give the technicians the signal to begin the preparations for a neural handshake. This would be a trial run, but Bernadetta, there should be a uniform that fits you. Besides,” they add, “I hear you’re quite the tailor.”

“Commander, I—” Edelgard stops, tamping down on her ambition, and looks behind her. Bernadetta is still, arms glued to her sides and staff on the ground. She in no way looks like someone ready to climb into a Jaeger. Edelgard turns and dips into a quick bow. “I apologize, but I believe we’ll need some time to mull it over. This was something of an—impulse decision, as it were.”

“Of course. Come see me when you decide, then,” says Byleth, flashing a hint of a smile. They turn and leave the room without fanfare.

Edelgard waits for their footsteps to fade before she turns back to Bernadetta. “Do you have any thoughts on the matter?” she prompts. Bernadetta remains silent, eyes on the ground, and Edelgard clears her throat to jar a reaction.

It works. Bernadetta’s shoulders jump. “Oh! Um, I was thinking, I just—I—”

“As I said before, it’s up to you,” says Edelgard, guessing at Bernadetta’s apprehension. “You seemed—uncomfortable with the prospect of actually piloting. I don’t wish to demand anything of you. If you aren’t fully willing to become my co-pilot, then the compatibility is all but null and void.”

“What? No, no, that’s not what I was thinking,” says Bernadetta, waving her hands. “I—I really want to, I think. I was more worried about… well, _you_.”

That makes Edelgard feel dizzier than a blow to the shoulder had, and she feels herself flush against her will. “That’s quite the change of heart.” She can no longer find any hint of hesitation in Bernadetta’s gaze, only a lit fire that she has to admit inspires her to the same sense of determination. “There’s no need to worry about my aptitude. I assure you that I am quite confident in my ability to pilot a Jaeger. And with you by my side—”

“—you’ll be even stronger,” finishes Bernadetta. Then she coughs. “Er, not to sound like you’re not already strong, or that I’m somehow as strong as you, or—”

“You’re not so weak yourself.” With a wry smile, Edelgard taps the spot on her arm where she’s sure there’ll be a bruise come tomorrow.

“Oh, why did you have to point that out?” Bernadetta scrubs at her face with both palms. “But, um,” she says between the slots of her fingers, “I guess sparring with you kind of cleared my mind? And, well, seeing you fight in that Jaeger has always made me feel—I don’t know. Relieved, but also envious?” Dropping her hands to her sides, Bernadetta curls them into fists and meets Edelgard’s gaze. “I’m your co-pilot, Edelgard. Or—I’d like to be. I’m ready to try the Drift for real. I—I hope.”

Edelgard studies her for a moment longer, only seeing that same fierce determination in her face and body. She reaches over to rest a hand on Bernadetta’s shoulder. It’s familiar in a way it shouldn’t be, given there hadn’t been any physical contact between them during or before the sparring match, but she feels—at home.

“Thank you, Bernadetta,” she says. “We’ll speak to the commander tomorrow, then, all right? It’s—” she glances to the clock “—nearly breakfast time, so I expect you’ll be wanting to head back to your room. I’d like to catch up on some sleep, too,” she admits, rubbing her eyes.

“Oh! Yeah, no problem. That’ll give us enough time to, you know, change our minds or anything.”

“Precisely my thought.” Edelgard can only hope she doesn’t have any more horrific dreams once she returns to bed. She’s about to say her goodbyes when she notices the apprehensive look has returned to Bernadetta’s face, and she stops. “What is it?”

Bernadetta chews the inside of her cheek. “Well—I just wanted to ask if maybe—youwouldwannaeatdinnertogether,” she rushes out.

“…Pardon?”

“If, um, we could eat together. You know, tonight. I—I usually take my food in my room and all, but maybe you could come with me?” Bernadetta tucks her sweat-slick hair behind her ear. “I know that’s selfish of me to ask, and you probably have plans with your friends here, but—”

“I would be honored,” says Edelgard with a smile. “That would give me a chance to explain more to you as well—what to expect from the Drift and that sort of thing, if you wouldn’t mind listening. We’ll soon have to know nearly everything about one another, so it wouldn’t hurt to get to know each other better either.”

“Everything, huh?” From her tone, Edelgard thinks Bernadetta is going to go back on her decisions, but all she does is sway somewhat on her feet. “Okay, that sounds fun. Let’s talk then, okay? I—I need to double-check my schedule for today, but I should be off by seven.”

“And I have very little to do today,” says Edelgard dryly. Worry lingers at the back of her mind, but she smiles as she steps back. “I’ll see you later, then.”

*

Edelgard manages to get another couple hours of sleep after all. Without a Kaiju to take care of, there are no hard curfews or schedules the people of the Shatterdome must keep to, but she likes sticking to her routine nonetheless. Squeezing in two hours of marginally more restful sleep is a hard sell, but she manages it.

The sparring session probably hadn’t hurt matters. Edelgard finds herself smiling as she falls asleep and when she wakes again, arms sprawled across her stuffed cat.

Again, though, she drags herself up in favor of doing something more useful. She calls Dimitri while she has time, mindful of the time difference—he sounds tired, but he is alive, and they both know that to be her main motivation for calling without saying so. They exchange clipped words. The call lasts barely more than fifteen minutes, Dimitri called off for drills, but Edelgard can hear the smile in his voice when he signs off.

Satisfied, Edelgard leaves her room. The Shatterdome countdown looms over all of them, bearing down with news of when the next Kaiju should arrive. Edelgard has her qualms with the algorithm behind it, but she takes her mild relief that the next attack isn’t calculated to occur for another week or so yet.

Faster and faster every month. Edelgard’s steps speed up, and she goes about her usual daily routine when she’s off-duty. (Well, that’s not quite accurate, given that so long as she’s at the Shatterdome, she’ll be expected to see to whatever duties she’s assigned—it just so happens that she’s found herself lacking in those as of late.) She has breakfast; trains; has lunch with Hubert, Dorothea, and Ferdinand; trains; is told by Byleth to take a break from training; and reads in her room.

When dinner rolls around, Edelgard isn’t surprised to see Bernadetta slink into the cafeteria and make tentative eye contact. Edelgard smiles, hopefully encouragingly. She leaves Hubert and Ferdinand to their dinner and sets off.

“Good evening,” she says to Bernadetta. “I hope you haven’t changed your mind.”

Bernadetta laughs, though it sounds more nervous than amused. “I was going to say the same thing to you.”

The brief trip to Bernadetta’s room is somewhat awkward, but once they’re in the safety of Bernadetta’s space—which is well-decorated, and Edelgard has only praise to offer for the stuffed animals covering Bernadetta’s bed, some of which look handmade—they both lighten up. They talk long into the evening, even after their food is long gone. Their conversation flows like water, catching in some places but picking up before long.

Edelgard eases Bernadetta’s fears as best she can, with distraction and direct advice alike. She doesn’t have to tell her much about the Drift, though. Bernadetta, as it turns out, had done several AI runs on her own time. Little tests when no one else was watching. Edelgard feels her eyebrows climb her forehead as Bernadetta tells her this, and Bernadetta shoves her in the shoulder for her blatant surprise—she apologizes right after, but so far as Edelgard is concerned, it’s progress.

Overall, it’s one of the most peaceful, pleasant nights Edelgard has had in some time. She’s almost tempted to ask if Bernadetta wants to round the night out with another sparring match by the time she departs.

She doesn’t, only leaving Bernadetta with a, “Sleep well,” and silent hopes that she’ll be able to do the same.

Come the next morning, Edelgard marches to Byleth’s office and tells them, in a tone that leaves no room for argument (though she doesn’t expect any), “Bernadetta and I would like to take you up on your offer.”

They take only a moment to blink in what Edelgard imagines to be their most outward expression of shock. Then they sit forward with a smile and say, “As I thought.” Adjusting their glasses, they stand. “Does today work for the two of you?”

“I don’t see why it wouldn’t,” says Edelgard, not pointing out that they may both lose their nerve should they have to wait any longer.

“All right. I will inform mission control. Get Bernadetta and wait for my orders.”

With a quick nod, Edelgard sweeps right back out of the room.

Thirty minutes later, she’s standing in the Conn-Pod of Aymr like she’s never left, feeling as if she’s just come home. Her uniform is as snug as it had been when last she’d worn it. The sleek black is far removed from the gold sheen of Aymr around them, but it matches the interior of the Conn-Pod, at least. Bernadetta’s isn’t custom-fitted, so it squeezes her in awkward places that they (which is to say, likely Bernadetta herself) will have to fix up before going into real combat. When she slams her helmet on, it’s with palpable frustration.

Edelgard is glad the fogging of her own helmet can hide her smile. She’s only glad that she feels comfortable enough to be amused—and it’s only because Bernadetta looks still somewhat nervous, but resolute, her

Bernadetta looks to the side, catching her gaze. When she speaks, it isn’t anything Edelgard expects. “I’m not going to let you be alone anymore,” she says, voice firm over the mic channel, and Edelgard’s breath leaves her.

“Well.” She has to cough, an odd feeling into her helmet. “I—thank you, Bernadetta. I truly appreciate the sentiment. And…” She reaches out as much as she can, extending her palm to Bernadetta, who does not take it but does twist her head to stare. “The same to you.”

They hold each other’s eyes. The commander’s voice fills their headsets as they tell Linhardt to engage the drop. It hits, the sudden motion taking Bernadetta by surprise enough to yelp, arms flailing out on either side of her. Edelgard is used to it enough to close her eyes, taking a sort of peace in the flipping of her stomach; the feeling of falling has never been one she’s fond of, but it’s a similar sort of comfort she takes in her nightmares. Which, she realizes, will be pumped into Bernadetta’s head. They’d never upset Hubert, but—

Edelgard shakes her head to herself. She’ll handle that when it arises.

“ _Initiating neural handshake…”_

The floor seems to shudder as the countdown washes over them, and as soon as the robotic voice reaches _ten_ , Edelgard and Bernadetta inhale in unison. Edelgard has experienced this before, but it’s new enough to still be overwhelming.

Already, it’s difficult to tell where her feelings end and Bernadetta’s begin. Soon, it won’t matter: Their connection in the Drift is integral, necessary for them to work as a cohesive unit when controlling their Jaeger. What matters is not who is experiencing what but how they’ll coordinate their efforts.

Images fly through Edelgard’s mind, each clearer than the last, warped by time. She is a toddler, nose in a book instead of playing with the other children on the playground, Hubert beside her. She is slightly older, and this is where her memories become patchier, leaving her only with fleeting images of her uncle’s hand a vice grip around her wrist and hospital rooms with walls whiter than the snow in Faerghus. She jumps to late adolescence, seeing the first Kaiju attack on television and steeling herself for those to come. She is a young adult, stepping into the Shatterdome for the first time and suiting up for her Jaeger alongside Hubert. She is gasping with tears of victory after downing her first Kaiju, blood dripping from her temple but her heart pounding. She is hearing the cheers when they return to the Shatterdome. She is observing Bernadetta from afar, taking stock of her traits and calculating her worth as a co-pilot—and as a person.

As her thoughts become less concrete, her memories give way to Bernadetta’s. Edelgard sees a bead of sweat trail down her own cheek as she and Bernadetta spar, hears Bernadetta’s running monologue and the rapid flickering of her gaze. She sees herself on a TV screen as Bernadetta looks admiringly on. She sees ink-stained blueprints, a needle stitching up fabric, a pencil running along the pages of a sketchbook, a hand resting on Aymr’s arm. She sees the Shatterdome from Bernadetta’s perspective as she steps in with her resume clutched to her chest. She sees a college dorm room and hears a phone call, the exact words of the man on the other line indistinct but the impression clear enough. She feels the iron framework of a chair digging into her, and—

And then, she neither sees nor hears anything. Edelgard’s memories sputter and fade out as Bernadetta’s cut to black.

Wired in as she is, Edelgard freezes once it hits her: Something has gone wrong.

Bernadetta has not chased the rabbit. Edelgard had expected, with Bernadetta’s inexperience and nerves, that she might be inclined to plunge right into her memories, and she would project an apology in Bernadetta’s direction if she could—if Bernadetta’s mind were accessible.

Bernadetta has done the opposite of getting caught up in memories. She has cut herself off from them entirely.

With a careful breath, Edelgard looks over. Bernadetta is bent forward, hands over her ears through the helmet, her breathing shallow and her eyes closed. The voices of Byleth and Linhardt and the rest of LOCCENT overlap in their ears, telling Edelgard to do something, telling Bernadetta to work through it. Edelgard ignores them.

She extends her hand to Bernadetta, uncaring that she can’t take it; what matters most is getting her back in alignment. “It’s all right,” says Edelgard. “I’m here, Bernadetta. You can let me in.”

Still, nothing happens. Here in the Conn-Pod, ringing through the mic channel, Bernadetta’s breathing is almost as loud as a Kaiju roar. If this goes on much longer, something awful could happen—harm to Aymr or, worse, Bernadetta. With what glimpses of her memory Edelgard had gotten, she fears that this time it would be irreparable.

If Edelgard breaks the connection here, she may never set foot in a Jaeger again. She doubts Byleth would let that happen, but—

She swallows. Which is more important: Her piloting career, or Bernadetta’s wellbeing?

The answer is so obvious it’s ridiculous to entertain for more than a nanosecond. “Sever the connection, Commander,” snaps Edelgard. A moment of stunned silence passes, and Edelgard continues, even sharper, _“Now!”_

The Jaeger powers down. Edelgard pants as the connection snaps, a splintering sensation she can feel even with Bernadetta’s emotional distance. Snapped back to herself, Bernadetta wrenches herself free of the rigging and tears off her helmet. She leaves the rest of her ill-fitting armor be. Linhardt is still speaking, but Edelgard can’t hear over the rush of blood in her ears, and if Bernadetta can understand him, she ignores him.

She lifts her head to give Edelgard a single look—eyes watering in apology; mouth a thin, quavering line—before she’s scrambling out of the opened cockpit, darting past startled officers.

By the time Edelgard steps out, armor removed, Bernadetta is long gone and a crowd has gathered. Their attention stings in a way it doesn’t usually, maybe because they’re as silent as the grave.

Edelgard takes a steeling breath and prepares to start pushing past people. But there is no need—they part for her before she so much as takes another step, noticing her distress or simply figuring they should step out of _the_ Edelgard von Hresvelg’s way. Byleth starts to say something but seems to think better of it. Thunderbrand’s pilots stand among the crowd, heads bent together in that way of theirs. Jeritza and Mercedes, too, are whispering amongst themselves.

Hubert, folding his arms and standing beside Ferdinand, whose fist is pressed to his mouth, meets Edelgard’s eyes. They’re still Drift compatible, after all; and even if they weren’t, Edelgard would be able to read the slight incline of Hubert’s head in a heartbeat.

She nods back, and off she goes, no longer to be deterred.

*

It doesn’t take long for Edelgard to reach Bernadetta’s room. When she does, the door is already closed, and Bernadetta is nowhere in sight. Edelgard waits a moment longer before approaching.

Her knuckles rap against the door. “Bernadetta? Are you in there?”

No response is forthcoming, but there is a _thud_ followed by a muffled swear.

With a sigh, Edelgard leans against the wall. “I wished to speak with you—nothing bad, I assure you, and through the door will suffice if you’re uncomfortable speaking face-to-face. Speak up if you’d like me to leave you alone,” she adds. She’d understand if Bernadetta needs more time than this. “Or, if you cannot speak, knock on the other side of the wall, perhaps.”

Nothing. Anticipation fills the silence, and Edelgard takes this as her cue to relax her shoulders against the wall. She takes a breath. She’s given plenty of speeches before, but this one is personal in a way she doubts she’s ever had to deal with.

“I understand your hesitation,” is what she starts with. “It’s been so long since I’ve Drifted with someone new—” she _hasn’t_ , really, given how long she’d known Hubert beforehand “—that I forget, sometimes, how invasive it can feel. It’s a frightening process, especially with someone little more than a stranger, and reality is far more intimidating than a simulation. And I wish to apologize for that. I am aware that you made your choice, but I could have warned you more heavily. I don’t wish to be overbearing or forceful—I was simply excited by the prospect of a connection with someone like you.” She’s careful to keep her tone more on the side of _explaining_ than _excusing_. “And… I still am.”

The other side of the wall is silent. Edelgard can almost picture Bernadetta sitting inside, still but rapt, knees to her chest and head slightly raised.

Edelgard wrings her hands. “You know,” she continues, “I used to be terrified of the ocean. And when the first Kaiju appeared from its depths, I—for a moment, I felt more vindicated than I could put into words.” A mirthless laugh. “My first thought was to do with a childish fear. Of course, I soon moved onto the danger I and everyone else on the planet would be in, and I became a pilot not long after. But a part of me still possesses that fear.

“I don’t even know how to swim,” she adds. “I was enrolled in swimming lessons with my brother—” whom Bernadetta has surely seen now “—as a child, but I only floated in the shallow end. The deep end reminded me too much of the sea. Deep, treacherous, unsafe. I’m only lucky I haven’t been torn from my Jaeger at sea. _That_ would make for a headline: Edelgard von Hresvelg, star Jaeger pilot, drowning unheroically at age twenty-seven.

“What I’m trying to say,” she adds quickly, “is that fear is natural. It can be embarrassing—” she tugs at her collar “—but it is normal, especially in situations like this. But you needn’t face that fear alone. We are Drift compatible, Bernadetta—should you allow me to, I would be more than willing to carry your burdens with you.”

She clears her throat, wishing she’d brought a bottle of water with her now. “I can’t say I know what you’ve been through—from your thoughts and memories, I can get the gist, and I am sorry for that as well. Not for seeing, unless you hadn’t truly wanted me to, but that you had to go through what you have.” Edelgard raises a hand to press over her heart. It’s as much an apology to Bernadetta as it is to herself.

She pauses, allowing it to sink in, then continues, “I truly understand if you never wish to speak to me again, let alone attempt Drifting again. But—I do believe we could make a good team in the future. Think about it, all right? This is difficult with a wall between us, I admit,” she says with a breathy little laugh, “but—ah. If you have any thoughts, feel free to speak up.”

Still nothing. Edelgard exhales, inaudible, and knocks her head back against the wall, making sure her disappointment isn’t loud enough to err on guilt-tripping. She can’t force Bernadetta to be her partner nor to speak with her.

“I’ll leave you be now,” she says, quiet, making to do so.

But before she can leave the hallway, there comes the sound of rushing footsteps from inside. To, it seems, an equal amount of surprise from Edelgard and Bernadetta, the door bursts open, Bernadetta panting as she holds it open. She’s rid herself of her armor (quite the feat on her own), so she stands now in only a tank top, slicked to her skin with sweat. Edelgard stares in mute shock.

With her heavy breathing, it takes Bernadetta a moment to be able to speak. “Um, hi,” she says. She swallows, a _gulp_ so loud it would be almost comical were it not for the dire mood hanging over their heads. “I—I’m ready to talk. I think.”

She gestures Edelgard in, and once again, Edelgard steps into her space, more apprehensive now than she had been the night before. She keeps her eyes on Bernadetta rather than any of the decor. That becomes more difficult when Bernadetta, after closing the door behind them, starts rustling around, fluffing up pillows and turning figurines like an unspoken ritual. Eventually, though, Bernadetta sighs and turns.

Without a word, she sits in the middle of the floor. Edelgard joins her, kneeling without concern for the hard floor beneath her, reminiscent of the chair in Bernadetta’s memories. Bernadetta’s posture is more open—her shoulders are hunched, but her legs are spread out, her hands resting on her knees.

Is she shaking? Edelgard chooses not to look that closely.

She’s planning on allowing Bernadetta to speak first, but with one glance at her, Edelgard instead clears her throat. “You don’t have to tell me anything if you don’t wish to.”

“Believe me, I don’t feel very up to it right now.” There’s a faint green tint to her face, but Bernadetta is at least laughing a little now, if lacking much amusement. “I’ve—I’ve been in therapy for a couple years now, just as soon as the Shatterdome insurance started covering it,” she admits, “but I guess, somewhere, I still really worry about letting someone else into that—letting them _see_ it. And feel it, and everything. One more thing to bring to therapy, I guess.”

“I understand.” Quieter, Edelgard adds, “More than you may know.”

Bernadetta shuffles. “The gap in your memories, right? I could sort of feel you worrying about that. And the hospital rooms, and the whole, um, kidnapping thing?” Her voice lilts up, less out of nervousness to bring it up than uncertainty, though Edelgard’s sudden pallor makes her eyes widen with the former. “Oh, sorry! I shouldn’t have—”

“It’s all right. You _were_ in my head, and we should grow comfortable discussing these things.” Edelgard adjusts her legs, crossing them, and shakes out the numbness in one of her feet. “That, and—well, it’s hard to be a Jaeger pilot without accruing some degree of trauma.”

“Yeah, I got some of that, too.” Bernadetta chews her lip. “How do you—?”

She trails off, but she doesn’t need to finish the sentence for Edelgard to understand. “Time, I would imagine.” Edelgard traces a scar on the inside of her elbow. Earning direct scars from Kaijus is rare if not impossible—this one is from a sparring match years back, a nick from the splintered wood of Dimitri’s staff. “And, I suppose, sharing your burdens with others. Though I will make a hypocrite of myself if I harp on that too much.”

“That isn’t something the tabloids got wrong about you, huh?”

“Not quite.” Edelgard has seen her Wikipedia page—not by choice, rather shoved into her face by an overexcited Caspar. It describes her as _notoriously private_. The source link to that is an interview that Edelgard doesn’t honestly remember giving.

They sit there for a moment in contemplative silence, and then Bernadetta says, soft, “I want to try again.”

Edelgard snaps her head in her direction. “Are you certain? Your reaction—”

“Pretty bad, yeah. It’s—you were right,” says Bernadetta, her first direct acknowledgment of Edelgard’s speech, “it’s a lot different from the simulations. Actually being connected to someone like that—it’s _weird_ , right?”

“Admittedly, yes. I don’t mind it by now, but it’s a little—”

Whatever face Edelgard is making, Bernadetta laughs in agreement. “I’m going to have to work myself back up to it, definitely—and maybe spar with you some more.” She eyes the purpling bruise just visible beneath Edelgard’s sleeve. “But I really have been interested in piloting for a while, and I meant what I said. About—about not letting you be alone, and all. It’s just—when I realized that you would be seeing _everything_ in my mind, I froze.”

“And I don’t blame you for that, not for an instant,” reiterates Edelgard. “There are plenty of memories of mine that I’m not so fond of people knowing either. But—” She inhales. “Having a co-pilot is all about trust. About opening yourself up to the risk of being vulnerable. I’ve gone through that before—you haven’t. It’s only reasonable that you would react in such a manner.”

“Yeah. I—I guess.” Bernadetta raises her knees to her chest and wraps her arms around them. “I’m willing to try again, really. But if I fuck up—if I ruin your chances at being a pilot again—”

“You won’t.” When Bernadetta opens her mouth again, Edelgard cuts her off preemptively: “Even if the Drift fails again, if you decide you can’t bare yourself to me in such a way, I _will_ still pilot a Jaeger—I will still be Aymr’s pilot, no matter whom my co-pilot may be. And I will still look to you for whatever guidance you can offer. Our Drift compatibility may only work in theory, but are we not friends now?”

“Friends?!” It’s a squeak, and Bernadetta’s face—once blanched—goes red. “I—I mean, I _guess_ , b-but—”

Edelgard allows herself a small smile. “If you’re willing to try again,” she says, “then I am as well. I told you, I still believe in this—in us. But we needn’t force things.”

Bernadetta tilts her head. “I think technically what you’re saying is, um, bad? But you say it with such confidence that I can’t help but feel a little optimistic.”

“If I’ve swayed you against your original way in any way—”

“No, no, not like that!” Bernadetta waves her hands. “It’s just—sorta reinforcing what I already had planned, I guess. I’m sure about this, Edelgard. It’s scary, but I _need_ to try this again.” Her eyes flash bright, and she drops her legs to the floor again, balling her fists where they fall at her sides. She meets Edelgard’s gaze with a flicker of that determination that had captivated Edelgard to begin with. “Not just for you or the commander or anyone else, but myself.”

“Well,” says Edelgard, reeling a little, “I can’t say no to that.” She rests her cheek against her palm. “Just take a couple of weeks to think it over, all right? And follow up on what you mentioned about therapy. I certainly will.” She shakes her head. “I don’t wish to rush back into things and risk damaging your mind—or mine, for that matter—any further. And if you don’t change your mind—”

“I don’t think I will. Trust me.”

“I do,” says Edelgard, and she finds that she does, enough to take her aback. But not enough that she regrets it. “Trust me as well, then.”

Bernadetta almost looks like she’s about to laugh. Then she shakes herself, face sobering, and says, “I do, too.” Now she does laugh. “That kind of sounded like a wedding vow, didn’t it? Er, not that we’re close enough for anything like that! Jeez, Bernie,” she says, resorting to mumbling, “don’t make things weird—”

“At ease, Bernadetta.” Edelgard’s smile stretches from cheek to cheek. “I look forward to finding you in the Drift again—completely, this time.”

“Yeah,” says Bernadetta. Her return grin is hesitant, but it’s just as wide. “Me too.”

*

“ _Are you sure you’re both up to this?”_ comes Byleth’s voice, cool but faintly concerned. _“_ _It’s been some time since your last attempt, but—”_

They trail off, leaving Edelgard and Bernadetta to exchange glances in the quiet Conn-Pod. Edelgard had, instead of her usual relaxed reaction, tensed up at the feeling of her helmet settling over her face. She lets that tension seep from her shoulders now.

Her attention is focused on Bernadetta, something that it wouldn’t take a connected brain to notice. Bernadetta is taking deep breaths. She looks almost more comfortable than Edelgard usually does now, palms spread at her sides and eyes closed, a sense of determination still radiating off of her. When she does open her eyes, she looks at Edelgard—and, with a smile, she nods.

Edelgard nods back.

“We’re ready, Commander,” says Bernadetta, her voice shaky but confident.

A pause. And then, clear as day—

“ _Initiating neural handshake…”_

The countdown begins. Edelgard, as much as she can do so, reaches between them to take Bernadetta’s gloved hand in her own—Bernadetta’s fingers squeeze hers back, almost too tightly, but Edelgard smiles anyway.

And together, hand-in-hand, they plunge into the Drift.

**Author's Note:**

> i know if i were ever to write a full-fledged pacific rim au i would go well and totally ham, and that is not something i have the time or effort to handle right now, between my personal life and several wip longfics -- two of which might end up VERY long (and are... not for fe3h. i welcome all guesses) -- so tragically this verse is clipped here... for now, maybe. also, yes this is a day late; to account for that, day 5's entry will go up tomorrow! (i really did plan to have more for my own fanweek, but again. lots going on!)
> 
> anyway, thanks so much for reading! if you have time to spare, comments and kudos are always appreciated <3
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/withlittlequill) | [tumblr](https://infernallegaycy.tumblr.com)


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